


Of the Names of the Elven Descendants of the House of Finwë

by awkwardtuatara



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A lot of musing on names, But the names of the descendants of Finwë are so interesting, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, I'm really not sure where this came from, Names, Quenya Names, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardtuatara/pseuds/awkwardtuatara
Summary: The names of the members of the House of Finwë, the way their names defined them, and the way they defined their names.From infamous Fëanor to forgotten Argon to the last elf of the House of Finwë, these are fragments of the story of the House of Finwë: told through names.
Relationships: Finarfin | Arafinwë & Findis, Findis & Indis (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë & Findis, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Fëanor

His names had always come strangely to him.

Fëanáro was the name his mother had given to him, and the name he favoured, for the _ataresse_ Curufinwë had only come to him after his father had known him for longer, in reverse of how the _amilesse_ would frequently be the one changed. He did not even remember his mother, but she had given him so much of her spirit, and he would honour that.

Curufinwë: Skillful Finwë. Such a wonderful name, and a name he was proud of, for he was the firstborn son of Finwë. And yet he used it less than he used Fëanáro, for that name came from the sacrifice of a mother he would never know. But it was treasured nonetheless.

He was called Curufinwë in the courts, and by the half-brother who wanted to know him, but he could not know him. He was called Curufinwë for his skill in crafts, but also for his imagination, for who else could have invented such an elegant writing system?

But his skill was nothing without his Spirit of Fire.

When his father had seen his new creations, Fëanáro had seen the way he hesitated, for he could not decide whether to say, “Curufinwë made these!” or “Fëanáro made these!” He had settled for “My son,” but it felt inadequate for once. For was not Curufinwë the title that made him his son?

Or had the name changed, once he had passed the name to his fifth son as well?

His Spirit of Fire was what gave him motivation, and what made him dedicate his entire being to his creations, both his children and his jewels. For he did feel that his Silmarilli contained some part of his soul, that he had contained part of himself in those gems and he could never make another work like them. Was that how his mother had felt, when she had abandoned him and his father?

He would call her Þerindë, as she had preferred, and as his father should have been. And yet Finwë remarried, and gave his two other sons Finwë-names as well. He could not contest their right to be called Finwion, but Ñolofinwë? Arafinwë? Such pretentious and pompous names for little children.

It was his pride in his heritage that made him pass on the Finwë-names to his children, but also the slightest tinge of vindictiveness. Third-Finwë, Commanding-Finwë, Strong-Finwë, Dark-haired-Finwë, and then to the one who looked so much like he did, Skilled-Finwë. And then Little-Finwë and Last-Finwë, for his children had lives of their own.

And as time passed, he honoured the name Fëanáro more than any other epithet he had ever been given, even if the feistiness it implied occasionally got him in trouble. But in the family he was in, with strong Nerdanel by his side and loyal sons behind him, he could be proud of it.

And then the Darkening happened, and he and his family left Valinórë, and Nerdanel betrayed him, and that damnable Ñolofinwë insisted on following him, and his father was dead, and he was Ñoldóran.

And was that a title to be more proud of than his name? What name did he mean by now?

He had expected that those Moriquendi who lingered in Endórë would have their own language, but he could not change his name to _that_ . The _nor_ was acceptable, but _Fae_? He hated to admit it even to himself, but the strange pronunciation of a name that was familiar to him bothered him, even if he would likely never associate with those who had lingered.

“No,” he said sternly. “I will not call myself Faenor, and nor will anyone else call me by that name.” But then what should they call him? For as much as he loved the name Fëanáro, it no longer quite suited him in this new land.

A compromise, then. Fëanor. The name Curufin could belong to his son now, for he would never use it in these new lands.

However, the name Finwë-Ñolofinwë was unacceptable. And if he had left Ñolofinwë, who was so determined to call him Brother and yet would put a claim to his rightful title, on the other shore, then what of it? Ñolofinwë could turn back, just as cowardly Arafinwë had. And all the ships would be burnt. All he had left behind was useless now, and this time he would not listen to the will of his firstborn son.

He never knew that his half-brother had made it across, for his Spirit of Fire had burnt out under the stars. He had died too early, but he had put up a fight, and his sons were left.

And so Curufinwë Fëanáro, who was not Faenor, who had barely claimed the title Fëanor, died.

In the Halls of Mandos, a sole Spirit of Fire burned, blazing and bitter, refusing to heal. He met his father again, but not his mother, for she had already departed, weaving tapestries that he occasionally saw hung in the Halls.

He slinked in dark corners, only coming out when his sons arrived, six of them by the end. He would never be released, so what was the point in attempting to heal?

 _This is unbecoming of one named Fëanor,_ Mandos had once said, in a time that could have been called early on. But he no longer had a reckoning of time.

And so his fire burned where it could not be felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not generally that much of a Fëanor fan, but you can't deny that he was an interesting character.
> 
> Faenor is the proper Sindarin form of Fëanáro.


	2. Findis

People only ever called her by one name, and she was content with it.

She was the first daughter of Finwë, the first child of Indis, and she loved them both. She tried to love Fëanáro as well, she really did, but he made it so hard. She always wondered if he felt resentment at her name, but his was so much more distinctive.

Her name was merely a merging of those of her parents. Finwë, hair-man, and Indis, the valiant woman, but also the bride. She was the Valiant of the Hair, but many heard her name and scoffed. They never showed it, of course, for that would be impolite, and to antagonize any child of Finwë was not something to be advised. But the word  _ indis  _ still meant bride, and those who scoffed likely said with loose tongues, “What use does Finwë Ñoldóran have for a daughter, except as a bride for some other?”

And yet she made the name her own. She acknowledged her descent, that she was the daughter of Finwë, that she was royalty. And also that she was the daughter of a member of the Vanyarin royal family, and was that not also something to be proud of?

They whispered of how different Indis was from Míriel, how different Findis was from Fëanáro. It seemed that they each had inherited the skills of their mothers. But Findis was quiet and did not draw attention to herself, while Fëanáro’s very existence screamed exorbitance. And Fëanáro was ever eager to express his own ideas, while Findis would listen to what anyone said, and learn that way.

For she was still the daughter of Finwë, who was King for a reason, and related to the Ingaran, acknowledged as the most noble of all Kings. She could pay attention and absorb what others said without taking it (overly) to heart.

She rejoiced in the birth of little Ñolofinwë, for now she truly had a brother that she could know. And then when she met Írimë who was named Lalwendë with all her laughter, she was no longer the only daughter of Finwë, and it was a relief upon her to know that she would no longer bear all the stares herself. A guilty relief, perhaps, but a true one. And for little blond Arafinwë, the child no one seemed to know what to do with, overly perceptive and noble? She found more companionship in him, the youngest child of Finwë, than with any other. For they both knew how to watch, and listen, and learn.

When the Darkening came that was nearly a mantra for her. Watch, listen, learn. Do not draw attention to yourself, it’s safer that way. More comfortable. Fëanáro’s spite will not fall upon you, people will not think of you as nothing but a bride with no husband (for you have not found anyone who you love and is deserving,) the gaze of  _ Amil _ will pass over you with your Ñoldorin hair and looks. Let Ñolofinwë try to shield you, he does not understand. Let Arafinwë worry, and let her worry as well.

But then the arrogance of Fëanáro resulted in the murder of her father, and she could not let go of that.

She loved Finwë, for although he had never really understood her, he had cared for her. She knew that he favoured Fëanáro, and after that Ñolofinwë, and only occasionally resented him for it. And when her father left for Formenos, she had kept things together behind the scenes, organized the dealings that needed to be done to keep Tirion running smoothly. But that love for her father did not necessarily carry over to devotion to Fëanáro.

“I will not leave Aman,” she declared, and watched as Fëanáro sputtered, Ñolofinwë shifted uncomfortably, Lalwen stared uncomprehendingly, and Arafinwë gazed back. Then as Fëanáro turned his head, saying that he did not need her to go, that she would not be of use. She was content with that. For alone in Aman, she could still find joy with her mother.

And when Arafinwë arrived in Tirion again, having turned back while there was still time, she gladly yielded the throne to him, for while she could handle the organizational affairs of the throne well she had no wish to do so again. 

“Then what will you do?” he asked her.

All her life she had lived primarily as a daughter of Finwë, acknowledging the  _ Fin _ in her name. But now she wished to change. Her father was dead, and she had to live with that.

“Is not my mother’s name part of my own?” she inquired. “I will accompany her to the palace of the Vanyar, and stay with her there. She will need someone who knows what we have gone through, at least in part, and you will be busy.”

He hears her unspoken comment that she will use her Vanyarin descent now, and nods. “Then may your road be smooth.”

Soon after, as things were considered soon in Aman, she departed for the palaces of the Vanyar with her mother. And there she was - well, not exactly honoured, but respected enough - as a relative of the Ingaran. She watched, listened, and learned, gaining her own place, slowly helping to reshape and heal the damages caused by the Darkening. She’d visit her brother and help her mother, her family more important to her than perhaps anything else.

She never did end up being anyone’s bride. And Findis was fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findis is a combination of Finwë and Indis, and there's no confirmed amilesse. This leaves a lot of room for personal interpretation.
> 
> Ingaran was a title of the High King of the Elves


End file.
